


There isn't a real word for Good-bye

by Dolavine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:53:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolavine/pseuds/Dolavine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tells Dean he’s leaving for Standford in two days, Dean doesn’t take it well but they spend one last night together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There isn't a real word for Good-bye

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Wicked Games performed by Phillip Phillips. Thank you to Yizzy for giving me the inspiration and this fic is for her and her speedy recovery from surgery. I’m giving her something read; I just hope she uses her good hand. ;) ;) Thanks to memoonster for the quick beta so that I can get this posted before the weekend.

It’s something that’s been preying on Sam’s mind, eating at him like a cancerous wound but he knows this is what he has to do. He knows leaving is the only way to escape destiny’s course for him. He looks over at Dean laying quietly, their arms intertwined like knotted branches of a tree and smiles half heartedly.

Shifting closer, Dean makes a soft noise of contentment as he leans his head on Sam’s broad shoulder. “This is nice,” he’s whispering like someone might hear them. Sam sighs deeply before moving their arms up and over his chest; his fingers squeeze Dean’s hand tightly as he makes a quiet noise in agreement. 

Sam looks over at the window, a pale slip of pink light filters through the blinds from the Motel Vacancy sign outside. His eyes follow the thin beam it casts over the room. They fall on the desk where their father’s note lays untouched, the same words scrolled across the motel stationary, an empty beer bottle acting like a paper weight so it didn’t blow away when he exited in the night. He sighs deeply again and his mind wanders to the neatly folded crisp white letter of acceptance to Stanford University stuffed in the zipper pocket of his duffel bag right next to the newly purchased one way train ticket to California as a tear wells up in his eye while Dean kisses his shoulder and nestles into his neck.

The hot breath of the words that come next whisper over Sam’s skin in a searing exhale as Dean says them quietly, “I love you.” Sam swallows hard, a lump chocking his throat, making his tongue dry and he can’t return the words. It’s not that he doesn’t want to return the words, not that he doesn’t want to scream his love for Dean from the rooftops but that letter, that ticket stuffed inside of his duffle bag, have a date for two days from now and they prevent him from being guilted by love into staying here. He makes a tiny noise as he squeezes Dean’s hand and pulls closer to his body, that’s the only confirmation he can give without losing all of the courage to leave.

Dean’s still draped over him when they wake up in the morning, still nuzzled into him and Sam hates the warm wonderful feeling of it, knows he’s going to miss this more than anything else they do, because, this right here, this is the love. He can’t wiggle out, can’t move without stirring Dean so he doesn’t even try, and just lies there trapped beneath him worrying about how he’s going to tell him he’s leaving the day after tomorrow.

 

A soft kiss breaks Sam’s thoughts. “Morning,” Dean, mumbles into the warm slightly sweaty flesh of Sam’s neck. “Morning,” Sam says shifting his body into a more comfortable position. 

Dean’s hard, his morning wood is pressing into Sam’s hipbone so he ruts against the sharp jut of bone and hums with pleasure. Sam smiles at the feeling; he loves it when Dean gets off on him. “Someone’s frisky,” he chuckles as he returns the hard press with a small gyration into his brother’s erection. Dean just moans, the deep sound resonating in his throat.

Their bodies are moving in sync as Sam presses into Dean, rubbing against his hard on. Dean’s holding tight, his arms wrapped around Sam’s waist pulling him in as he moves and rubs against him. Sam’s hand is squeezing his own cock through his boxer shorts, his other arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulders holding him tight. They’re panting and groaning, their bodies are on fire, they’re generating enough heat to cause spontaneous combustion. Sam’s sweating, a thin line beads on his forehead and drips down to his neck and onto Dean’s chin buried in the hollow of his throat. 

“God Sammy,” Dean’s arms gripping tighter around his body.

“Fuck,” Sam grunts out, his hand working harder over his cock, through the precome soaked fabric.

“Can’t hold on,” he moans, his hips grinding into Sam, his cock twitching and aching from need. He licks his lips tasting the salty sweat from Sam’s neck and can’t stop himself as he comes hard. His hands squeezing Sam’s forearms so hard there will probably be a bruise.

“Christ,” Sam’s hand squeezes the back of Dean’s neck as he’s pushed over the edge by the feeling of hot fluid easing the friction of Dean’s grinding. He swallows hard and let’s himself spill out hot and thick inside of his boxers. 

They aren’t saying anything, just lying here panting as they hold on to each other and Sam dares to look over at Dean. His face is relaxed; a tiny smile on his lips, his forehead is glistening with sweat and his eyes are heavy lidded. Sam swallows hard, he’s thinking about how this could be the last time they ever fuck, the last time they ever touch each other, that things could change forever, hell they are going to change forever and a chill runs up his spine causing him to jerk uncontrollably. 

“You okay Sammy,” he says sitting up and leaning over him.

“Not really,” he says it before he can stop himself. “I mean,” he can’t circle back and erase what he’s said so he stops before he compounds the error.

“What do you mean,” Dean’s confused, his face shows it. 

“I just,” he can’t bring himself to look into Dean’s eyes. 

“Spit it out Sammy,” his voice has an edge of anxiety to it.

“I’ve been accepted to Stanford,” he says it, turns his head away and closes his eyes and he holds his breath. He’s not sure what he’s expecting but he knows it won’t be nice.

He thinks about if for a second, blinks a few times trying to focus on what Sam just said and as if he can’t believe it he repeats the word for confirmation. “Stanford,” he croaks out. “The college?” he asks quietly, like he doesn’t want to hear the words come out of his own mouth.

Sam looks back, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “Yes,” he doesn’t want to elaborate, because the fewer words said, the better. 

“When?” he rolls over, sits up on the edge of the bed, he can’t look at Sam. His green eyes filling with tears, his tongue feels fat like its keeping him from saying something that he wants to get out. 

“In two days,” he says it like he’s ashamed, like he’s being forced into leaving when he knows damned well it’s own choice.

Sam’s words hit him like a kick to the gut and he can’t help but want to react but he can’t, all he can do is sit there, his hands trembling at the thought. “No, when did you find out?” his voice is broken and he tries so hard to sound normal but he can’t.

“Three months ago,” Sam closes his eyes in remorse for not telling him before this.

The words are like a gunshot in his ears, like a punch in the face and Dean can’t help but react. “And you are telling me this now,” he turns around, a tear rolling down his cheek, his lower lip trembling but his voice a bit more full of anger.

“But, Dean…” 

“No Sammy, No Buts, No, You wouldn’t understands. This is my life too, you don’t get to make these decisions without me,” he stands up, his hands balled into fists.

Sam jumps up, his boxers still sticky with come and stares Dean in the eyes. “This is a decision only I can make Dean,” he’s rounding the bed and standing in front of him now. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t keep being miserable because I love you and don’t want to leave you,” he’s crying.

“But you are,” Dean’s words are cold.

“Dean,” Sam reaches out to touch him but he jerks away. “You can’t make it better with a touch Sam, not this time,” Dean turns away and walks into the bathroom.

When Dean comes out of the bathroom he grabs the keys and takes off. Sam knows better than to chase after him when he’s in this state so he just watches him drive off through the dirty motel window.

There’s a bar not far away, Dean knows it, been there enough since they arrived in town over a month ago. He strolls in and nods at the locals scattered about before bellying up to the bar. “Usual,” he says grabbing a handful of shelled peanuts and scattering them around on the counter. The man slides a bottle of beer and a shot in front of him. “That’ll be six, Dean,” he waits for the money. Dean pulls it out and slides it across the bar before taking a long swallow of the beer and then downing the shot followed by another long chug of beer. “Another,” he throws a fifty on the counter. “You know what; just keep em coming til the fifty is gone.”

It’s been a few hours and Sam hears a loud muffler, he looks out the window but it’s not Dean. He’s anxious about what might happen when Dean comes back because when he’s upset like this, nothing good ever comes of it.

Dean’s leaning over the bar; he’s had more than enough to drink. “Another,” he says after downing the last of his beer. The bartender cut off the shots an hour ago and now he’s refusing to serve him anything more. “You know what, a man knows when he’s drunk enough,” his speech is slurred. “And this man,” he points a thumb at himself and sneers, “ain’t drunk enough,” he slams his palm on the table and pushes a twenty towards the bartender. “I called you a cab,” is all that the bartender says before walking away. 

Dean scoffs at him. “A cab,” he reaches into his pocket for the keys to the Impala. “Hey where’s my keys,” he’s looking on the floor while searching all of his pockets; he stumbles and falls against the counter.

“Right here,” the bartender says dropping them into a locked box. 

“Give’m back,” Dean tries to snatch them before they slip into the opening. 

“Tomorrow when you’re sober.” 

Dean looks defeated and heaves out a long exhale. Normally he’d call Sam but right now, he’s not on his emergency list.

Sam’s holding the ticket and acceptance letter on his lap. He’s not reading them, not looking at them, but trying to decide if he’s going to actually go or not. Dean’s face keeps running through his mind, his cold words ringing through his thoughts and he’s not sure if he can leave him. 

Dean stumbles through the door. “Pay the driver,” he says as he tries to pull off his jacket.

Sam looks out and sees a cab waiting; he goes out and pays the driver. Dean’s sitting on Sam’s bed when he comes back in. Dean watches him and misses him already, knows that he may never be with Sam again. “I’m..a..hungry,” he says, his hands gesturing uncontrollably as his words run together.

“There are leftovers in the frig,” Sam sits back down in the chair and picks up a book to look busy.

“I don want leftovers,” he rolls his head back against the headboard, half drunken lull, half exasperated frustration. 

“Stop acting like a child,” Sam shakes his head.

“You’re the child,” he shoots back. “Always have been always the younger, always with the bitch faces and whining complaints.” 

“Okay Dean, I get it, you’re mad at me.” 

He points his finger at Sam and narrows his eyes. “Correction, I’m fucking pissed at you, that goes deeper than mad,” he cocks his thumb and shoots his finger like a gun then blows on the tip.

“Just pass out why don’t you,” Sam’s voice cracks, he’s trying to hide how much he’s actually hurting.

Dean snorts. “You’d like that, let you off the hook, wouldn’t it,” he sneers, narrow eyes boring at Sam.

Sam stand up, walks over and looms over Dean, his long gangly body not the least bit menacing as he tries to intimidate him. “You can’t make me give up my dream Dean,” he pokes a finger into his shoulder.

“Fuck off,” Dean turns on his side. He can’t stand it, can’t have Sam so close, because all he wants to do is pull him down and show him everything he’ll be leaving behind. 

“Fuck you Dean,” he turns to walk away but turns back. “Isn’t like you have anything to keep you here either.”

“Dad,” he mumbles as he turns around to face Sam again.

“Is dad here,” he points to the note on the desk.

“He’ll be back,” he sounds like a small broken child.

The sound of Dean’s voice touches something deep inside of Sam, he knows Dean means it, means the only reason he stays is because of their dad. His eyes soften and he hesitates for a second. “Good little soldier,” he says softly, like he’s complimenting him.

“Fuck off brainiac,” he flips him the finger. He doesn’t tell him that he wants to run away, run with him to Stanford and leave this life behind them, start new, start over and follow their own path. He keeps these things inside out of duty and family obligations.

“You’re such a goddamned asshole,” he turns away again and Dean’s hand grabs his wrist. He turns around and looks down at him.

“Hell bent on leaving,” he says through gritted teeth. His voice is deep and gravelly. He pulls Sam down until he’s bent over and they are face to face. “Nothing means anything to you,” his words are cold and dark.

Sam struggles against the tight grip of Dean’s hand squeezing so hard it hurts. Dean’s breath is heavy with whisky and his eyes are slits of black anger. “You don’t know anything,” he yanks his hand away but Dean puts his other hand behind Sam’s neck and holds him there, face to face, eyes staring into each others soul.

“I lose everything, might as well lose you too,” he pulls Sam down and smashes their lips together, his free hand fisting in his shirt, the top buttons on Sam’s Henley popping off as Dean pulls at the fabric. 

The kiss is brutal and hard, lips grinding against teeth bruising the soft flesh inside. Sam tastes blood as Dean relentlessly pushes hard into him. He tries to push away, tries to get his breath but Dean won’t let him go, won’t let him move. His hands come up and push on Dean’s shoulders as he struggles to push him away but Dean’s grip only tightens.

“Need you Sam,” Dean’s words are muffled and desperate.

Sam stops resisting, his hands softening over the thick muscles of broad shoulders and he falls to his knees, mouth still pressed to Dean’s but softer this time, letting him have all of his mouth. He feels a sob building in his chest, his throat is tight and a tear rolls down his cheek. He wants to tell Dean how much he loves him, doesn’t want to leave without him but he knows, he’ll never come with him. 

There is nothing tender in Dean’s touches, every one is rough as he manhandles Sam pushing him backwards and pulling on his hair as they pull apart. He looks into Sam’s eyes filled with tears and wants to take advantage of his vulnerability, take him and show him that no matter what, he owns him so he’ll never forget who his first was. There is nothing endearing about what he’s about to do because he’s marking what he owns. If he’s leaving, he’s not letting him leave unbranded. 

“Get on the bed,” he’s pulling at Sam’s shoulders. Sam obeys and climbs onto the bed. 

Dean shoves him backwards, climbs on him, pulling off his shirt as he straddles Sam’s waist. He leans down and claims Sam’s mouth again, this time his tongue pushes past Sam’s lips and swipes the roof of his mouth, Sam makes a whimpering noise and pushes up into Dean’s body. Dean holds him still with his thighs as he continues to take his mouth.

Its fever hot and fast as Dean rips Sam’s clothes off, leaving him bare naked with a torn shirt and ruined jeans and boxers on the floor. His hands rake down over the taut flesh of Sam’s chest and belly. Thin red lines mark his path before he leans down and licks over them, his tongue stopping to flick over one of the pert nipples jutting up from Sam’s heaving chest. 

Dean smiles as Sam arches off the bed with a sharp intake of breath at the feeling of his mouth sucking in the hard nub. Sam’s hands grab hold of Dean’s head and hold him there to lave and suck at the hard flesh. Dean nips with blunt teeth and enjoys the sounds of pleasure mixed with pain that come out of his brother’s mouth. He loves how he’s reacting to this, to the new territory he’s exploring as he takes him.

There isn’t room to move, the way Dean’s thighs are spread over Sam, his jeans rubbing rough against Sam’s hard cock, precome leaking over the thick seam. He wants to beg for more, needs to have more and at that moment Dean starts to roughly stroke his cock with a loose grip that’s teasing the shaft and making excruciating squeezes at the head. Sam’s breathing heavy, his body sweaty and needy but Dean refuses to give him more than what he sees fit.

 

Dean’s hard cock is pressing tight against his fly, the long length peeking up and over the waistband, Sam’s mouth waters at the sight of the flushed head and damp slit. “Wanna suck me Sam?” he asks but his words sound more like a command.

“Yes,” he licks his dry lips. Dean’s smile is evil as he unbuttons his jeans and lets the length fall forward. Sam’s eyes are wide with anticipation, he reaches up to touch it but Dean slaps his hand away. 

“No,” he shifts his hips and crawls up Sam’s torso adjusting himself over his chest with a knee under each armpit. “Put your hands under your ass,” he commands him. Sam blinks in astonishment but then does as told without question. Dean rises up on his knees, grabs hold of the headboard and positions his cock over Sam’s mouth. “Open up,” he’s watching Sam’s expression, likes how his eyes aren’t leaving his and Dean smirks before slipping the head between Sam’s perfectly O shaped lips. He feeds him half of his cock before letting go of the shaft and taking purchase with both hands on the headboard now. His hips start slow, tiny thrusts, slow gyrations as he makes his way down to the back of Sam’s throat. “Suck my cock,” his voice is thick and needy as he tells Sam what he wants. 

Closing his lips around Dean’s thick length Sam tilts his head so that Dean’s able to breach the back of his throat. He gags a little, makes thick strings of saliva along the shaft as he pumps in and out of his mouth. He feels the head hit his tonsils so he opens his throat and swallows the head, his tongue rippling over the sensitive flesh. Dean stops moving, the pleasure so sweet and hot that he feels like he might come if he keeps pumping and there is so much more he wants to do before he comes. “Fuck Sam,” he pants out. Sam’s gagging for air, he tries to adjust his head but Dean’s so far down his throat that he’s completely at his mercy. Dean pulls out and lets Sam catch his breath. “Sorry but you’re such an expert cock sucker, I forget you need to breathe.”  
Sam watches as Deans strips his clothes off, his hands still tucked under his ass waiting for the command that he can take them out again. His cock is hard and leaking on his belly, he’s needy and wants to explode inside but letting Dean have his way with him, letting him do this to him is the only thing he has to offer him as comfort. “Want you,” his voice is rough and fucked out, his lips red and bruised from the abuse of Dean’s mouth and cock. 

“Know you do,” he’s cocky, arrogant and sinister. “You like it rough, want me to abuse you, make you feel better about leaving, don’t you?”

He doesn’t know how to respond, he wants to tell him no, that he loves him, wants to do this to offer him love and comfort but then again he knows that this is the break up sex, the end of what they have built over the last two years and that this sex is the way it is all crashing to the ground. “No, love you Dean,” he says with all of the sincerity he has in his soul. 

Something inside of Dean wants to believe him, wants to soften his blows and let the gentle love come through again but his rational mind knows it’s a lie, knows that even with the love, there is the leaving, the abandonment and he can’t open up to that and let himself resign to being used like that. “Pull your knees up,” his eyes go dark as he positions himself between Sam’s knees. “Relax,” he licks his index finger and runs it over Sam’s tight puckered hole.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Sam tries to relax; he lets his legs fall loose to the sides and arches his hips a little for easier access. He groans with the feel of the tender circling. “Mmmngh.”

Dean’s other hand manipulates Sam’s balls; he squeezes the sacs and rolls them between his fingers before pinching the soft skin and pulling on it roughly. Sam arches off the bed, his cock jumping with need. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he yells out, his hands are still tucked under his ass as they grab the sheets and fist them.

“That’s my boy,” Dean says with a laugh. “Gonna make you want this so much,” he licks his lips and thinks about those bruised lips and what they just taste like now, all swollen, fleshy and sensitive.

“Want, it, already,” Sam moans.

He slips a finger inside, there is no ceremony, little spit for lube and he twists it as he corkscrews it inside of Sam’s tender hole. “Fuck, you’re fucking tight,” he says through clenched teeth. “Need lube to stretch you out.” 

Sam grits his teeth and removes a hand from under his ass, fumbles on the nightstand and throws the bottle of lube at him. “Please,” he groans out with need and pain.

“Pussy,” he says squirting a liberal amount over the hole and slipping his finger through it, moving faster and faster with each thrust deeper and deeper. He slides in another finger; listens to Sam beg and keen under his manipulations. He watches his face, the twisted excruciating pleasure emotions as he rocks his hips into Dean. “Want me to fuck you Sam?” 

Sam can only nod; he’s so lost in the want that he can barely form thoughts let alone words.

 

Pushing in a third finger just to make sure he’s good and open he fucks in and out, twisting his fingers and crooking them as he reaches the entrance to loosen the tight ring. They don’t fuck much, don’t penetrate hardly at all but Dean, he needs this, needs to bury himself inside of Sam and lose all control. He pulls out, lubes up his cock and lines it up, the head breaches the opening and Sam damn near chokes, the head pushes past the thin ring of muscle as it slides inside the walls stroking the shaft of Dean’s throbbing cock. The tight heat is like nothing he knows, threatens to make him come within the first two or three thrusts but he changes focus and grabs Sam’s hips pulling him closer. His hands pull Sam up so that they are face to face and he starts to kiss him. 

It’s gentle at first, he doesn’t want to hurt his mouth but Sam pushes in harder, almost forces Dean to be rough, so he obliges. Sam’s practically jumping on Dean’s cock as he lets him plunder his mouth, bite his lower lip and suck his tongue. His lips are tender but it’s almost calming since his cock needs attention that it’s not getting and gives him something to focus on beside the electric shock he’s getting from the constant pounding of his prostate.

Dean’s fingers are gripping Sam’s shoulders so tight they’re bruising him and even though he cares, he can’t bring himself to stop. He bites Sam’s neck and makes a feral noise. Sam responds with pleasure moans and exposes more of his throat.

Sam’s hands are clasped behind his back, his chest puffed out from his arched shoulders so Dean takes advantage. He nips and bites across his clavicle, stopping to suck a red bruise into the hollow of his throat before pushing back on the bed again. Sam lands with a bounce. 

Adjusting Sam over his thighs, he angles for better leverage. “Wrap your legs around me,” his hands gripping Sam’s hips tightly. Sam obeys and hooks his feet around Dean’s waist. Dean begins to slam into him, pound relentlessly. They’re sweaty and moaning, Dean’s grunting with each thrust. Sam’s bouncing off of Dean’s cock, his head hitting the bed board with each brutal thrust, his cock is leaking a thick stream of precome over his belly as it slaps up and down from the violent jerking. “Let me come Dean,” he begs.

“Stroke yourself,” he never stops thrusting.

Sam wraps a sweaty palm around his cock and it’s only a few strokes until he comes on a hard grunt all over his chest, a small stream hitting his chin. 

Seeing Sam’s face, seeing the come covering his chest and chin pushes Dean over the edge, he picks up speed. “Fucking hell,” he grunts as he comes hot inside of Sam, his come coating the tender walls of his ass. “Fucking come slut,” he says pulling out, small spurts of jizz still shooting out and aims for Sam’s belly, his hand coated in come and lube from jerking himself on Sam. He shoves his hand up to Sam’s mouth. “Lick it clean, come slut.” When Sam’s done, he rubs his fingers through their mess on his chest and belly then commands him to suck that off too. Sam does as asked, never rebelling just licking and sucking all the while watching Dean, watch him.

When Sam’s done, Dean gets up, wipes his cock and hands on the edge of the bedspread and climbs into the empty bed across the room. He doesn’t say goodnight, doesn’t acknowledge Sam at all, just climbs under the covers and rolls over, back to Sam’s bed.

Sam goes into the bathroom and cleans up. He can’t help but feel used, can’t help but feel betrayed by Dean’s actions but he also understands them. He knows he hurt him, knows this was his last ditch attempt at showing him how much he doesn’t need him. He cleans himself up and crawls into his own bed, his last night with Dean, spent alone, listening to him snore.

Dean’s not sleeping; he’s faking, lying there pretending to sleep. His eyes full of tears, his heart aching with a crushing pain of a thousand hands squeezing it, he can’t even swallow because his throat has a lump the size of a boulder in it. He keeps thinking about Sammy leaving, about being left with his absentee father and no one to hang on to. He’s truly alone.

He must have drifted off because Sam’s voice wakes him up; he’s talking to someone on the phone.

“I’m not running way.” Dean hears him say. “I’m going to college, I can’t do this.” Dean’s paying closer attention now. “I don’t want to be a hunter; I want to be a lawyer.” He hears the hurt, desperation and anger in Sam’s voice. “Fine then, I’m walking out that door and I promise you, I’ll never come back,” he hangs up the phone. Dean knows it was dad, knows that they were arguing but Sam was keeping his cool so he wouldn’t wake him. He knows Sam needs this, hates hunting, and needs more in his life. He needs to use those brainiac brains of his for bigger things. He takes a deep breath and rolls over. 

“Was that dad?” he asks with a fake sleepy voice as he rubs his eyes for effect.

“Yeah, he wasn’t any happier than you are,” Sam sits down and stuffs some things in his duffel bag before zipping it up. He stands up and pulls on his coat, puts the strap over his shoulder and looks back at Dean. “I have a train to catch to Palo Alto,” he turns towards the door.

Its mere seconds before Dean’s up. “I’ll take you,” he’s pulling on his jeans and t-shirt. He knows he can’t say good-bye but he doesn’t want to let Sam walk out that door alone either, especially after hearing the one sided conversation of him being told to get out and not come back by their dad.

“You don’t have too,” Sam says turning the doorknob. He really wants Dean to take him but he doesn’t want to have to say good-bye or have any awkward conversation that might try and change his mind either.

“What kind of big brother doesn’t take his little brother to the train station when he’s going off to college?”

 

Sam just looks confused. “I don’t know,” he looks back at Dean.

“A douche bag brother, that’s who,” he grabs the spare keys from the bowl as he pulls on his leather jacket. “Get a move on it, we have to go pick up the car first,” he’s out the door before Sam.

They don’t say anything during the ten minute drive, no awkward conversation, no longing looks pass between them. Dean watches the road and Sam looks out the window, Dean’s reflection behind him is his constant focus.

The car pulls up to the drop off spot. “I guess this is it,” Sam says pulling his duffel from the floor to his lap. He looks over at Dean who is staring straight ahead and gives a non committal grunt. He opens the door and starts to get out when Dean’s hand takes his wrist, he looks back.

Dean’s thumb caresses the thin skin under his jacket cuff; he looks into Sam’s eyes and says without expression or feeling. “I don’t love you,” he lets go of Sam’s wrist and turns back to the windshield in front of him again, his hands at two and ten gripping the steering wheel.

Sam doesn’t react he just swallows hard and gets out of the car, closes the door and steps onto the curb.

The car revs off behind him and when he looks back he only catches the tail lights as Dean turns the corner.

The End


End file.
